Saturday Ride: Pressing into the still life
Dear Izzy, Max, and Kate,
Another silent morning.
Layered. Pressing into the still life.
Sunrise held captive by the heaviness drifting across the horizon.
Snow fell, mixed with thicker, less beautiful, ice.
Into my eyes. I watched it settle and rest upon my gloved hands.
Staring at the road beneath me, guarding my eyes from it,
I saw the gleaming at 90 revolutions. I reached out my hand,
touched the spinning tire. A layer of the ice. Frozen rubber against frozen asphalt.
a sign that indicated a twisting road.
a small barn balanced on stacks of rocks.
An old grocery in the country, complete with old men drinking coffee.
You were asleep when I left. Awake when I returned,
watching it blow across our yard
from the window.
We talked about the snow. I rubbed my chin, watched my face
regain it’s color and warmth again as the greyness began to retreat.
I love you,